What do you need? Lizzy asked, eyebrows knitting in confusion.
Exactly what do you need? her mother, Martha, snapped, the words sharp as the summer heat that baked the Kent countryside.
Lizzy stared at the ramshackle cottage perched on the familys plot of earth, the old stone walls still halffinished when she was a child. Shed come to the garden to plant the spring beans, the same routine shed followed since she could hold a trowel. Are you feeling alright, Mum? You dont look well.
Marthas voice trembled. Im fine, dear. Its just you. She gestured at the stranger standing in the garden, a man in nothing but a pair of plain white trousers, his stethoscope conspicuously absent.
The man was Dr. Victor Rivers, a sixtyyearold physician who had tended to Martha during her recent hospital stay after her husband, George, died of a sudden heart attack just forty days after his funeral. The family had assumed the old man would fade away, that his widow would live out her days alone, but now a stranger was shuffling through their plot as if it were his own.
Lizzys heart hammered. Is this a medical checkup? Its been half a year since you were discharged.
Dr. Rivers gave a tight smile, his eyes never leaving Marthas. Just a routine checkup, Miss Whitfield. He moved closer, the sun glinting off his bare knees, making her wonder what on earth had driven a respectable doctor to strip down to his underwear in a public garden.
Martha stepped forward, her voice low and edged with steel. What do you want, Victor?
Nothing more than a little companionship, he replied, as if offering a bouquet.
Lizzy felt the world tilt. You plan to marry my mother? she whispered, the words catching in her throat.
Martha laughed, a brittle sound. Well marry, dear. Its not a joke. Hell be my husband, and the cottage will be ours.
A cold fury rose in Lizzys chest. What about Fathers memory? Our familys love? We didnt promise this to him.
Victor raised an eyebrow. We can marry on a whim, if you like. A bit crooked, but it will do.
Lizzys mind raced. But the cottage is my inheritance! I have a right to it.
Marthas eyes narrowed. The title is in my name alone. George was never listed as an owner; this land isnt his estate to be divided.
A sudden hush fell over the garden. The wind rustled the barley, and Dr. Rivers began digging a furrow, his shovel clinking against the soil. He paused, looking up with a grin that made Lizzys skin crawl. Im fully on board, love.
Lizzy sank onto the cracked garden bench, the weight of the situation pressing down like the summer sun. Shed never imagined the cottage, the place of childhood summers and barbecues, would become a battlefield. The legal tangle that followed felt inevitable.
Maxwell, Lizzys husband of ten years, arrived later that afternoon, his face pale from the news. Their eightyearold daughter, Poppy, was with his mother, who had taken over most of the weekend. Maxwells brother, Victorno relation to the doctorhad heard the rumors and called.
Anything new with your mother? he asked, voice low.
Shes flirting with a doctor, and now wants to marry him. Shes saying the cottage is hers alone, Lizzy replied, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Maxwell frowned. Whats his name again?
Victor Rivers, she said, the name tasting bitter.
Rivers? The same one who used to stroll around the garden in his underwear? he laughed, but the humour fell flat.
They drove to see their family solicitor, a sharptongued barrister known as the Devils Advocate. He spread the title deeds across his oak desk. The cottage was bought while you were married, but its registered solely to your mother. That makes it her separate property, despite the mortgaging and the money you both put in.
Maxwells jaw tightened. So we have no claim?
The law is clear. Unless you can prove a constructive trust, the court will likely uphold your mothers ownership.
Back at the cottage, Dr. Rivers stood beside the newly turned soil, his bare knees glistening with sweat. He offered a hand to Martha, who clasped it with a fierce grip. Well make this our home, he whispered.
Lizzy felt a surge of desperation. If we cant split the land, well split the house. I want a quarter of the garden, a quarter of the flat upstairs.
The courtroom was a cold, echoing chamber. Martha, clutching a faded photograph of George, shouted, Youre trying to steal my future! He never wanted this! Dr. Rivers, now in a crisp white coat, replied, I love Martha. Im not a thief.
The judge, after hours of testimony, handed down a compromise: Lizzy would receive onefourth of the cottage grounds and a matching share of the flat, the remainder staying with Martha and her new husband.
Marthas face twisted with rage as she stormed out, Youll never take whats mine! Yet, as she left, a quiet resignation settled over her.
Later, Lizzy met Dr. Rivers on the garden path. He held a spade, his shirt rolled up to his elbows, the sunlight catching the sheen of his skin. Im sorry for the chaos, he said, voice soft. I never meant to hurt anyone.
She sighed, the tension in her shoulders loosening. Well settle this. Ill buy the garden from you, and youll relinquish any claim on my flat.
They signed a notarised agreement, sealing the deal. Martha, now alone in the cottage, watched as Lizzy and the doctor shook hands, the garden blossoming anew under their joint labor. The dispute was over, the land divided, the family bruised but not broken.
In the quiet that followed, the wind carried the distant sound of a church bell, signalling a new beginning for all of thema reminder that even the sharpest wounds can heal when the sun finally sets on the days drama.
